


'Tis Better Than An Opera

by SimulatedStars



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: (there is swearing btw), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enjolras doesn't hate his dad as much as you might think, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2013-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-04 23:36:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1087011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SimulatedStars/pseuds/SimulatedStars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Every year Enjolras' parents try to give him money and ask him to go to the theatre.<br/>This is the one year he accepts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	'Tis Better Than An Opera

**Author's Note:**

  * For [withtalkofsummertime](https://archiveofourown.org/users/withtalkofsummertime/gifts).



> Huge thanks to excessively-english-little-b (on tumblr) for beta reading this for me.

Enjolras’ parents had never expected him to take them up on their offer of theatre tickets, their son having done his best to ignore their existence after leaving them four years prior with only a thesis on why their political opinions were wrong to keep them company. But still, they tried year in and year out. The tickets were their idea of a peace offering, a way of saying “Look, we may believe what we believe, but we don’t feel as strongly about all this as you do. In the end you’re still our son and we’d like to know that you’re still alive so take this money and do something fun for once.”

They never expected him to turn it into something  _political_  either.

~ ~ ~                                                                 

The tickets had been very specific: Enjolras was to buy himself and one guest tickets to a theatre of his choice, and he had to pay for a box. He had followed his parents’ wishes by going to see the Moscow Philharmonic orchestra1 in an upmarket Parisian theatre, and he had decided to ask Grantaire to accompany him.

It was nearing the start of the concert, and Enjolras had decided to accept the fact that he would have to watch it alone, when he heard the sound of the door being opened behind him. He turned to see that Grantaire, remarkably, had dressed up for the occasion - a grey waistcoat over a white shirt and dark trousers. Enjolras couldn’t help but smile when he saw the neatly tied green bow tie, making his eyes seem bluer than ever.  
  
“You came.”  
  
“So observant, as always.” Enjolras shook his head in mock irritation at Grantaire’s words, before turning away from him and pulling his blazer from the seat next to him. After a moment of cautious silence he heard Grantaire come and sit down. 

With their legs next to each other, almost touching, he noticed that they were dressed in opposites - his trousers being a light grey and his waistcoat black. Schooling his features back into a neutral position he looked back at Grantaire.

As he opened his mouth to speak the lights dimmed, and the curtains of the stage parted to reveal the seated orchestra. This meant that he would have to wait to tell Grantaire what he wanted to say. The very idea made butterflies spring up in his stomach.

~~~~ 

They sat through the first half calmly - Enjolras taking advantage of the box’s position to watch the conductor and the first few rows of the audience as much as he watched the orchestra; Grantaire, however, was tapping his fingers in time to the music, eyes closed. Whether he was trying to doze off or choreograph a dance Enjolras wouldn’t chance to guess (though he leaned towards the dancing; despite his abrasive appearance he had seen the man dance once. He still grinned whenever he remembered it). Of course, this is not to say that Enjolras was staring at the other man, merely sparing him a glance now and then, to try and gauge whether he was enjoying it (and because the music meant more when he was in sight). 

At the interval Grantaire almost sprinted out of the box, saying only “I need a drink” before leaving Enjolras alone once more. 

The minutes passed slowly. There were plenty of things to watch in the crowded stalls below him - people dithering over ice cream, discussing the music, taking the time to enjoy one another’s company. Despite this he found himself glancing over his shoulder at the ever-shut door, trying to focus on anything but the empty space and rapidly cooling chair beside him.

He hadn’t even picked up his suit jacket. Enjolras told himself that had to mean something. Anything. But then again, this was Grantaire. 

He checked the door again.

Tearing his eyes away, he thought instead about the drafts that were sitting on his desk. All those that had a short deadline had already been completed, or simply needed checking for grammar. Combeferre would do that for him, so there was nothing much he needed to consider there.

He checked the door again.

Still no change. He found himself playing with his tie, loosening it and tightening it on repeat as he glanced over the people down in the stalls. The queue for the ice cream had all but vanished, and those who had compromised it were sitting down demolishing their spoils.

The chime of the 5 minute bell could be heard from inside the auditorium, accompanied by the small, human sounds of people returning from the foyer. 

Enjolras made sure not to turn around until the orchestra had started playing again, and yet the blazer was still the only other occupant of the ridiculous box.

Without even a glance into the rest of the audience he stood up and walked the short distance to the door of the box and slipped out, closing the door behind him. His world was suddenly silent - the auditorium having thick walls and sound proofed doors. It was also surprisingly bright, and he raised a hand to shield his eyes from the aggressively bright fabric on the walls.

He headed left, towards the bar.

~~~~

  
He eventually found Grantaire in a narrow storage room. The door had been left ajar, allowing a sliver of light to indicate its position from inside, as the room itself was almost pitch black - lit only by the singular, open window opposite the door. 

There was a silhouette in the window, belonging to a tall person with curled hair, a cigarette in their mouth and a glass in one hand.

The figure turned as the room brightened, revealing itself to be the man that Enjolras was hunting. Grantaire raised his glass in greeting as Enjolras made his way across the room to lean on the window ledge. Spread out in front of them was a cityscape formed of lights and blurred by the snow that was falling slowly. 

“It’s beautiful, Grantaire.” He looked over at his face, staring out into the middle distance. The lights of Paris were reflected in his eyes, a city that was still alive in the depths of a winter’s night. 

“And lo, the gods on Olympus look down and cannot see the festering nature of the mortals from their perch.” His tone was scathing, as bitter as the liquid he was drinking.

“The world may be flawed but that is no reason to give up on it, nor any reason not to see it as anything other than what it is: beautiful. Broken does not mean inherently bad, nor inherently unlovable, nor destined to cause itself total ruin.” At that Grantaire finally looked at him, his face a picture of tiredness and alcohol-reinforced self pity.

“Don’t - please.”

“But it’s true!” He felt his heart beat a little faster once again, as all the things he could say went whirling through his head. “Even on the level of a single human being - they may think themselves too broken and too inferior to matter, but there is no-one who I know of who is so broken that they are not worth fighting for, or worth believing in. Everyone has been hurt and everyone deserves to be seen as amazing for simply existing.”

Grantaire broke the eye contact and finished his whiskey in one fell swoop.

“And here I am, believing in the one person in this gods-forsaken world who doesn’t have any fucking flaws.” Enjolras dropped his eyes at that, hearing the sting in his words.

“Nothing and nobody is flawless, Grantaire.” At this the other man scoffed loudly.

“Spoke the man who could embody Galatea 2”

Enjolras didn’t respond, partially out of frustration, and partially out of slight bafflement. Grantaire finished his cigarette and they stayed there, letting their silence be blanketed by the snowfall. Eventually, he spoke up.  

“Look, thank you for coming, tonight. It does mean a lot to me, even if you don’t want to stay ’til the end.”

“You know me - I’d do anything for a free drink.”

“If that’s the way you see it.”

“No! I mean, yes, no.” Grantaire groaned in irritation. “Hell Enjolras, I did not come here for the drink. And it wasn’t anywhere near free.”

Enjolras let out a short laugh, and tentatively shuffled closer to him. “I could pay for it, you know. Then it would be free.”

He rested his glass down on Enjolras’ hand. “It still wouldn’t be what I came here for.” He then looked down into Enjolras eyes, their faces dangerously close.

“Then what did you come for?”

“The music.” And he pushed his face a hairs-breath forward, and Enjolras tasted alcohol as their lips touched, yet all too soon it was over and Grantaire had shied up against the frame of the window.

 “Fuck, oh fuck I am so sorry I’ll just get my blazer and leave and I’ll never se-“ Enjolras stopped him by rising on his tiptoes and pressing his lips back onto his.

Grantaire did not seem to mind. 

~ ~ ~ 

They made it back to their box in time to hear the last song, their hair ruffled and dusted with snow. They pushed their chairs closer so that they could lean their shoulders against one another to help them warm up after the cold air.

At the very end the orchestra took their bows, and the conductor turned to the audience. 

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I thank you for coming to our show tonight. As you may know we are donating all profits from this concert to charities working to help men and women in Russia who are affected by the laws against so called “homosexual propaganda”. I would ask you to give a small donation on your way out, in support of these charities. And now, we will play a final piece.” He turned once more and took up his baton, indicating for the seated musicians to commence their playing. 

As the music began again, Grantaire looked at Enjolras questioningly, before smiling and leaning in to peck his lips once again. He leant into his ear and whispered “Tchaikovsky” 3. This elicited a chuckle from Enjolras and they held each other close until they could leave, Enjolras giving a large donation to the charity collectors at the door.

As soon as they were outside the theatre and back in the snow the playful kissing started again, and it didn’t finish until they were sitting in Enjolras’ kitchen, drinking coffee and refusing to let go of each other’s hand.

~~~~ 

 

(1) Though the Moscow Philharmonic does exist, I just used the name for this fic, it has no affiliation to the real orchestra…

(2) Statue carved by Pygmalion, so beautiful that he fell in love with it and Venus turned her human for him.

(3) So yeah the orchestra are playing the Nutcracker Suite because a) Christmas and b) Tchaikovsky was fairly blatantly homosexual. (Even the bbc agree so…)


End file.
